Why The Caged Bird Sings
by AbbeyMellarkAlways
Summary: "It's my heart you hold, so never let it go. I still love you like I loved you long ago." Katniss Everdeen's whole life is music. Can a certain boy from her past use their common passion to find a way to her heart? Everlark AU.


Full summary: Katniss Everdeen's whole life is music. Can a certain boy from her past use their common passion to find a way to her heart? AU.

**So, new story! Woohoo! I'm excited about this one, and I hope you like it! The summary is lyrics from the song Long Ago by Hawk Nelson. It's a great song, and listening to it really gave me inspiration for this story when I got stuck.**

**Many, many heartfelt thanks to my beautiful friend Salanderjade for all her advice, support and encouragement with this. Couldn't have done it without you. All credit for the title goes to her too! **

**I guess this first part is sort of a Katniss: Prologue - sort of an intro to the story and her character in this AU. Okay - hope you enjoy!**

When the final bell of the year rings, the girl with the braid is the first one to leave. Her steps are light and almost soundless on the well-worn concrete, but her stride is purposeful, almost angry. She bushes her long dark braid forcefully back over her shoulder, and she doesn't look back at the place that seems to taunt her as she strides away; _you have to come back eventually, you know. Just you wait for next year._

Hitching her backpack higher on her shoulder, she continues down the path as the first fat, warm drops of the summer rain fall from the sky. Other students run from school behind her, huddling underneath umbrellas and trying to escape the sudden torrent from the clouds, but she ignores them, and none of them talk to her. She may as well be invisible.

The air is thick and humid, but she doesn't stop and find shelter, or run faster for home. She just continues to walk, slower and more relaxed now the school is a good distance away, despite the fact that the heavens have opened up above her. By now, her clothes and hair are drenched and the warm rain has soaked though to her skin, but she doesn't care. Instead, she takes the time to study the intricate patterns that form when she steps into a fast-forming puddle, or the heavy clouds that match the colour of her eyes.

It's only when she reaches 'her place' that her shoulders truly loosen and anyone who happened to see her would notice that her eyes seem to turn a not-quite-so-threatening shade of silver. It's really their place – her and her dad. But…it's just her place now.

Sometimes, when it's really peaceful and quiet, she can imagine that he's still here. That he wasn't taken away from her in a horrific cloud of coal grey and black. That he's sitting beside her, singing songs – whichever one is in their heads, or on their hearts. She'd join in too – her sweet voice blending surprisingly well with his powerful one. He was never too loud, though; he always knew how loud was too loud. He always knew. Always understood; her hopes, her dreams, her fears…and her music. No one understood that like he did. Sure, her mother and sister know that it means a lot to her. They always have. But they don't _understand_. They don't realise what it is about a song that makes her tick, or keeps her sane and alive when it seems like nothing else will. They don't understand that music is there for her when the rest of the world isn't. But he did.

Their place…it hurts to call it that. But that's really what it is.

It's at the edge of a big park on the edge of town. It's not actually a park, more of a forest really, but that's the name it's acquired over the years. It's a fair walk to get there, but that's one of the things she loves about it – it's out of the way and hardly anyone knows it's there. Not the park, of course – it gets plenty of visitors frequently. But her place is tucked away on the edge of the forest, past the place where the trees almost grow too close together for one to get through.

But if one persists through the thick foliage long enough, they will find a tiny clearing that holds only a rustic white garden seat meant for two, wound with intricate designs of plants and flowers almost as beautiful as those growing around it. The vines and trees grow thickly around and over the small area, shielding it and anyone inside from the elements and also the outside world. Soft pink and white flowers appear to have been scattered from the hands of a twirling child and onto some of the bushes and vines that wrap their protective arms around the clearing.

It's one of the few places that Katniss Everdeen feels truly at home. There's a somewhat magical quality that radiates from it, and whether it's the soft colours of the flowers that somehow enchant her (the only time she would ever admit to appreciating the colour pink), the feeling of being protected, or the flood of memories of being here with her father that wash over her when she's here, it's her favourite place to be. It's a place for escaping and forgetting the rest of the world. Maybe that's what it is; the feeling that it defies all the odds to even be there, and she can relate to that.

As far as Katniss knows, she's the only person who comes here anymore, and her father was the only other one. She's never brought anyone else here, not Prim or Madge. No, she's always alone, but at the same time, she's never lonely. She has family and friends who she loves and who love her, but as a general rule, this girl thrives on being alone. Those times when she's on her own are when the real Katniss Everdeen truly comes alive.

Katniss is not a talker. She is a listener, when she's with company. Her outlet, her way of expressing the real her inside her heart, is through writing music. And that's what she does, after sitting in the rain, waiting for the skies to have compassion on her. (While the trees may provide shelter from light showers and most other weather, they are still no match for today's downpour.) When the rain finally ceases, Katniss pulls her notebook, manuscript paper and a pencil from her backpack, ignoring the fact that she is soaking wet. Inspired by the summer rain and feeling the presence of her father surrounding her, notes begin to flow from her mind and straight onto the paper in a strange dance of black and white. Writing music comes to her as easily as breathing. And in a way, it's also just as necessary to her survival. Composing is no longer just a hobby fir Katniss; it's an extension of her being.

Rain. Flying. Clouds. Patterns. Running. Time. Life. Colours. Falling. Tears. She pours her heart out. No words, just notes. Sometimes just ideas scrawled down quickly to be elaborated upon later, but music all the same. Drops of water fall from the ends of her dark hair and long eyelashes onto the page, but she writes on, simultaneously erasing memories of disappointment and hurt of the day from her mind as melodies and harmonies take their rightful place, there and in her heart. No, she is never alone.

**So...let me know what you think! Worth continuing? If so, the next part will probably be a Peeta: Prologue. Remember - reviews make dandelions grow!**

**Thanks so much for reading.**

**xx Abbey**


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